


Making the Most of the Night

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, First Time, Foul Language (Swearing), Friendship, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Post-Quickening, Quickening, Quickening Sex, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: A flat tire leads to a first time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/gifts).



> Beta by Sam Johnsson - thank you!  
> Based on a chance comment on a fic; LadySilver, you inspired me to write this pairing again. :-) I'm rowing a canoe for this ship, in hopes I can upgrade it to a pontoon.

_North of Seacouver, February 1999_

Immortal presence seared through Cory’s head as he drove down the rural highway just as one of his tires hit something on the road. As he swore profusely, Cory fought to steer his car to the side of the road. Once he stepped out of the car, he noticed the flat tire.

Caution made him look around his immediate vicinity to find the source of Presence. A farm house with a barn next to it was visible from where Cory stood; he estimated it was set back a quarter mile. As he watched, lightning illuminated the space between the barn and the house – lightning Cory recognized as a Quickening. Regular lightning never resembled a Quickening; the way the bolts were concentrated made it particularly distinctive.

Unwilling to linger when another of his kind had just won a fight, Cory opened his car’s trunk to check the condition of the spare. He swore again when he saw it was missing.

 _This what I get for hot-wiring the first car I found_ , he told himself. He sighed, considered his options given where he was, and risked getting closer. If nothing else, he had a few minutes in which the victor of the physical fight would be more concerned with trying to remember who they were to win the secondary fight. That gave Cory enough time to figure out what the fighters had driven to the challenge.

Cory made his way to the house. As he got closer, he saw three vehicles parked in the gravel driveway in front of the house: an ancient Ford pickup that looked like it served as the primary farm vehicle, a late-model Toyota sedan, and a battered Honda CB500 motorcycle with a small duffel strapped to the pillion seat with a pair of bungee cords. Cory dismissed the motorcycle as impractical: it was late February in the Pacific Northwest, and the weather had been icy and cold, with a forecast for snow. He had no desire to freeze his ass off just to have transportation, though he’d take it if he had no other choice. Cory tried the truck first; it wouldn’t turn over. The Toyota was unlocked, but equally dead.

With a frown, Cory got out of the car, not remembering that the hood opened with a lever activated from inside the car, only to see a redheaded man stagger in his direction. He carried a bloodied rapier and looked as though he was fighting through either grief or resignation or both, as if whoever he had fought against had been someone close to him. The green plaid flannel shirt and jeans he wore clung to his lean, muscular frame, and bore evidence that his challenger had scored a few hits. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing he’d worn a plain white t-shirt under it. His free arm cradled his stomach, covering an injury.

Cory gasped, shocked, as recognition hit. “Richie?”

Richie stopped, a lunge’s distance away, before he whispered, “Hey, Cory,” and collapsed in a heap, somehow managing not to land on his sword.

“Damn it,” Cory swore and went to the younger immortal’s side. A check of Richie’s pulse revealed he was dead. After rolling him over onto his back, Cory quickly found the cause of Richie’s collapse – a short sword in his gut. That told Cory that Richie had won despite incredible pain but had managed enough strength for the final killing blow only before either blood loss or a fast-acting poison had caused his death. Cory laid Richie out on the frozen ground, and pulled out the sword, careful not to touch the blade. He tossed it to the side.

Curiosity drove Cory to check out the battleground. He found the decapitated head of the loser and swore. The dead was familiar, though it had been more than a century since he’d last seen the frozen-forever-as-a-pre-teen boy. He’d bought Kenny’s ‘I’m just an orphan boy and I know nothing about immortals’ story precisely once and escaped with his head intact because he’d heard Kenny rummaging among his things. He’d considered it a kindness to leave a child immortal alive. Clearly, Richie had learned what Cory had over a hundred years earlier: Kenny was a headhunter, a con artist, ruthless, and untrustworthy.

Closer to the barn, he found another decapitated body, a woman dressed in farm clothes. From the wrinkles in her neck and hands, Cory judged her to have been at least middle-aged if not older. With a grimace, Cory turned back to see if Richie had revived.

Just as he approached, Richie sat up, grabbing his sword in reflex, and rose. When he saw Cory, he sighed in relief. “What are you doing here?”

“Flat tire,” Cory told him. “Was planning to steal a vehicle but the car and the truck don’t work.”

Richie walked over to a pile of clothes at the edge of the driveway and tossed him a set of keys, wincing as the motion stretched recently healed muscles. “Kenny disabled the sedan; he didn’t want Maureen running away. Truck was the reason I was here in the first place; Maureen wanted me to figure out what was wrong with it. When I didn’t see her, I knew she was in trouble.” He paused and picked up the heavyweight brown motorcycle leather jacket he had discarded on the ground near his motorcycle. “Don’t suppose you know who Kenny was?”

“Kid tried to take my head back in 1855,” Cory told him. “Wasn’t about to buy his sob story a second time.” He paused, considered his options for leaving, and decided he didn’t like the way Richie looked. It had taken him three tries to put on his jacket, as if tossing the keys to Cory had taken more concentration than he had bandwidth. He was also trembling, a sure sign of the aftershocks of taking a powerful Quickening. Normally, Cory didn’t care who won or lost playing the Game, but he remembered what taking an unexpectedly powerful Quickening was like.

“If you can find me a shovel, I’ll give you a hand burying your friend.”

“We should just leave, forget burying the bodies,” Richie started.

“If we don’t, the birds and the scavengers will attract attention.”

Richie stared at him. “Why do you care?”

“Consider it an apology for pissing you off the last time we met.”

Richie shuddered through a breath. “Appreciate it, Cory. If I’m keeping you from going somewhere else, I can handle it by myself.”

Cory shook his head. “Only place I need to be is somewhere that’s not where I was, preferably not in this state, but I’ve never known this state’s police to be in a hurry over stolen money,” he said, shrugging. “I can spare a few days. Forgive me for being blunt, but you look like all you should handle is staying put and processing what just happened to you.”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “Yeah, I need a few more minutes.”

Cory patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Let me grab my stuff out of my car and then I’ll give you a hand here. I got a tarp I can spare from my tent kit.”

Grateful, Richie nodded. “Should be two shovels in the barn,” he offered.

By the time Cory returned with the promised tarp and shovels, Richie had cleaned the blood off his sword and looked steadier on his feet. They buried Maureen in what looked like the family graveyard, which was a short distance from the back of the farmhouse and surrounded by a stone wall; a line of evergreens further obscured the cemetery from view.

“Where do you want the scheming bastard to go?” Richie asked Cory, pointing to Kenny.

Cory shook his head. “No way do I want to put him in the same graveyard, but if we put him too far out, it’ll attract attention. Let’s put him on the other side of the wall. Even knowing where his Quickening went, I don’t want him to become a vengeful spirit.”

“Superstitious?” Richie asked.

“If I said yes, would you hold it against me?”

Richie chuckled shortly. “After everything I’ve seen since becoming immortal? Hell no.”

Cory grinned briefly at that. Once the gruesome task was done, they put the shovels in the barn.

“Are there no animals on this farm?” Cory asked as they returned to the front of the house.

“Not anymore,” Richie told him. “Maureen sold the last horse a month ago at auction. This property was next. She wanted to use the money to see the world. She called me yesterday, asking me to fix the truck and telling me she’d found a young boy who was immortal. I told her to be careful. She laughed at me.”

“How long was she one of us?”

“About three decades. Ran into her at a café in Seacouver; she hadn’t met anyone as young as me be one of us. I fascinated her, and we became fast friends.”

Cory winced. “Which means she was easy prey for Kenneth’s sob story.” He looked at Richie, seeing a faint trembling that spoke of exhaustion. Though it had been years since he had experienced it, Cory remembered that recovering from a Quickening-induced death was sometimes worse than the Quickening because the body became overly sensitized from absorbing a Quickening and then healing from death. He glanced at the darkening sky, not liking the heavy storm clouds or how the rising wind held the bite of freezing rain. “Come on. I’ll help you fix the truck and you can toss your motorcycle in the bed. I’ll drive you home.”

Richie made a face. “Truck’s a waste of time; the sedan’s the better choice. Kenny just unhooked the battery cables. As for home: don’t have one. My motorcycle’s all I got.”

“Do you object to breaking into Maureen’s house and crashing there for the night or two? Smells like it will rain again – that godawful freezing rain kind – if not worse.”

Richie blew out a breath, shivering as his adrenaline-fueled energy faded. “Was wondering if it was cold enough. Wasn’t looking forward to freezing my ass off on my motorcycle.”

“Is that a yes?” Cory asked dryly. “If it bothers you to stay in the house of a friend who recently died, it shouldn’t take us long to fix whatever Kenny did to the sedan. That said, I’d rather not leave you alone right now; you look like you could use a friend.”

Richie smiled briefly. “Thanks. I, uh, don’t have any cash, and Maureen – Maureen would’ve wanted us to. She often worried about me being on my own. I crashed here a few weeks ago, when it was raining too hard to drive.” He took a deep breath. “I’m okay with staying in the house as long as we don’t destroy the door to do it.”

Cory looked affronted. “Would I be so crass? Watch and learn, boyo.” He pulled a set of lock picks out of his duffel bag and made quick work of the front door of the small farmhouse. Richie brought a small duffel bag in with him and stuffed a pair of bungee cords into it before dropping it onto the couch. From what Cory saw of the contents, it looked like a few changes of clothing, like what was in Cory’s bag.

Inside looked like a homage to the 1960s. A few minutes’ exploration revealed the house had two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The guest bathroom also held the laundry. The master bedroom held one of the largest four-poster beds Cory had ever seen; the guest bedroom looked as though Kenny had ransacked it, trying to find anything of value. Kenny had even sliced open the guest bed’s mattress. Cory would have told him not to bother; from the décor, Maureen struck him as someone who would trust in a bank.

“Guest bed’s ruined,” Cory announced as he joined Richie in the kitchen.

“I’m not surprised. Kenny was angry that Maureen tried to enforce a set of rules,” Richie replied. “She caught him watching something very much not kid-appropriate on TV.”

Cory snorted. “Let me guess: that was his excuse to kill her when she was trying to figure out why the car wouldn’t start?”

“Yeah.” Richie grimaced. “He would’ve killed her in a few days anyway; he never liked to linger out in the country. Not enough places to hide the way you can in a city. Would you grab the linens from the hall closet and change out the bedsheets while I check what we have for food?”

“Sure.” That task didn’t take Cory long to complete and he returned to the kitchen to find Richie still rummaging through the fridge and pantry.

“What’s the verdict?”

“We have enough food for a few days, looks like.”

“You cook?” Cory moved to the kitchen, curious to see Richie’s finds.

Richie shrugged. “Enough to know how not to starve. You?”

“Same. We should eat in case the power goes out. Rural area like this, it could go.”

Richie acquainted himself with where Maureen had kept her pots, pans, spices, and cooking utensils. “You sound like the voice of experience.”

“Yeah, I’ve lived in a place like this. It was nice because everyone knew their neighbors and looked out for each other. Made them more suspicious of strangers, so if you went to church and were kind to your neighbors, you usually got a free pass. Took advantage of that more than once. What are you cooking?”

“Mac and cheese with beef and spinach?” Richie flashed a grin. “Unless you hate spinach. I got introduced to eating it this way and like it.”

“Sounds good,” Cory agreed. “What do you need me to do?”

“See if you can figure out where Maureen hid her wine? The last of this Quickening doesn’t want to settle just yet, and the last time I was here, she told me she loved red wine.”

“Or you can choose door number two, Richie.” Cory stepped closer and caressed the younger man’s face. “Nice thing about sex is no hangovers.”

Expecting to be turned down or laughed at, Cory was shocked when Richie took a breath and said, “Ask me again after we’ve eaten. I, uh, might be interested.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Cory asked, aware he was pushing his luck but needing to know. As much as he wanted to help Richie settle a Quickening, Cory wanted more. Competence, strength, and resilience had always been attractive to him; finding it in Richie ignited Cory’s curiosity. “If it helps, I really am sorry. Amanda lied about who you were.”

Richie smiled. “She also didn’t tell me she knew you, either, so we’re even there. Mac wound me up, too. He remembered if I was pissed off enough, I’d take his side instead yours. Given what happened?” He shrugged. “I’d have backed off on using that much explosive. It was excessive, and you could have lost your head.”

“Pretty sure Mackie boy was hoping I would.”

“That would’ve been a godawful way to receive a Quickening,” Richie noted.

Cory winced as he considered the idea. “Yeah.”

“Thank God that didn’t happen,” Richie said emphatically. “I’m not fond of Mac right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s the reason I don’t have a home right now. Would you hand me that container of elbow pasta?”

Cory passed over the pasta container. He used the time while Richie was cooking to search the cupboards and found a bottle of red wine in the cupboard above the phone. “I take it MacLeod’s not in Seacouver?”

“No. I don’t know where he is, actually. Last I saw him was a year ago. Friend of ours told me he was taking a sabbatical from the Game, which means he’s gone somewhere no one can find or hurt him. I know he’s not at his island north of here, which is holy ground, because I checked there. I’d been expecting to crash with Mac at his place like I usually did once the racing season was over.”

“Which was when?”

“September,” Richie replied with a shrug meant to convey his carelessness, but Cory caught the disappointment and resignation that flashed across his face before Richie turned away to focus on cooking.

Cory’s heart went out to him. He remembered the times he had expected his teacher to be able to pull him out of a situation, only to discover Matthew was unavailable. “It’s February, Richie. That’s a long time to be homeless, especially as cold as this winter has been.”

“Yeah, well, Mac rarely headed to Paris until November, and I was expecting him to be home. Imagine my surprise when I saw the ‘for sale’ on the building he used to own.”

“So where have you been living?”

“One of those pay-by-the-week places at first and then Mac’s warehouse when that got too expensive. My key still works for that at least, and Mac hasn’t stopped paying for the electricity on it. It has a toilet, a sink, and a shower, since Mac uses that space for sword fighting practice when he’s not using it for storage. I bought a space heater, dug out the quilts from one of the boxes Mac had stashed there, and unfolded the futon he kept for extra guests, so I’m good.” Shrugging, Richie dumped a package of ground beef into the deep skillet he had heating on the stove, seasoned it with salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and broke it up into chunks. “Do you usually stay around the Seacouver area?”

“Last ten years, yeah. Figured I was overdue for heading somewhere else. Was considering heading back to the East Coast.” Cory rummaged through the cabinets and found two wine glasses. More digging in the drawers revealed a wine seal cutter and a cork puller. He opened the red wine he had found. The label claimed the wine had been produced in Washington State. After a cautious sniff, Cory shrugged and poured Richie and himself generous glasses. “I have to be careful; I’m more known there than I am here.”

“Have you ever not been a thief?”

“Sure. I’ve raised sheep and horses, and I’ve worked the line in various factories. I have found little I enjoy doing more that gets me the same thrill,” Cory admitted. “Why race motorcycles?”

Richie shrugged. “Prize money’s usually anywhere from $200 to $600 for a single race, and I’ve won as much as a grand racing one race. When I was on a team, my uniform, motorcycle, all maintenance, and almost anything I wanted was all paid by the team’s sponsor. Plus, I like going fast and the challenge of making sure I don’t turn too soon or get clipped by another racer. I dropped out of school when I was fifteen. People get weird when you say you don’t have a high school diploma, but you have a GED. It’s somehow not the same in their head.”

“I couldn’t read or write until I was in my thirties and my teacher taught me. Before then, my education was stuff I’d memorized or been taught how to do.”

“But everyone didn’t have the same expectations about education, did they?” Richie countered. “Mac told me you’re older than him. That means you’re from when knowing how to read and write was uncommon. I know that much about history. Now it seems like if you don’t have a college education or a clean criminal record, you’re not worth crap.”

“That’s a load of horseshit.”

Richie glanced at him as the ground beef browned. “Yeah, well. I’m up against that when I try to get a better job than racing or repairing motorcycles or tending bar.” He poured the pasta in the pot of boiling water he’d started and set the chicken-shaped kitchen timer he’d found. In a small saucepan he pulled out of a side cabinet next to the stove, he made a cheese sauce from milk, water, and the bag of shredded Mexican cheese he’d found in the fridge. He also pulled out the bag of fresh spinach he’d found.

Cory sipped the wine and found it passable. “Could join me, be my partner.”

“Appreciate the offer, Cory, but I’ve gotten in trouble enough already as an adult.”

“Oh, for what? And that implies you committed crime as a kid.”

“Tried to steal a sword when someone broke mine. Earlier, someone tried to frame me for murder in Spain and in Paris; turned out he had a habit of chasing after students to make them run for their teachers, but now I have an Interpol record whether or not I like it. As for stuff I did as a kid: after I dropped out of school, I was part of a gang that broke into businesses and homes, stealing whatever we could easily fence.”

“Ah. Were you any good?”

Comfortable with his past, Richie barked a laugh. “No. I was too easily distracted; got arrested a lot. I was on the verge of being tried as an adult if I broke parole one more time,” Richie said, stirring the cheese sauce.

“You played the ‘I’m young, I can be reformed’ card a lot?” Cory wondered, amused.

Richie grinned. “Yeah. If Mac hadn’t convinced the judge his influence would be good for me and that he’d drop all charges for my attempt at robbing him, I was looking at becoming a career criminal.”

Cory’s eyes widened. “Are you seriously telling me you tried to steal from Duncan MacLeod and that’s how you met?”

Richie’s grin broadened. “Tried to steal a sword from his antique store. Two seconds after I realized Mac had caught me, a headhunter showed up, and _then_ Connor MacLeod showed up, intent on hunting the headhunter and protecting his cousin. Looking back, I’m quite sure the MacLeods thought I was in league with the headhunter.”

Cory shook his head, amazed. “There aren’t that many people who can say they’ve met both MacLeods, Richie.”

“Yeah, well, knowing them isn’t doing me much good now. Would you find a colander? Pasta should be done shortly, and then I can mix this all together.”

Cory nodded. He found the colander in an undercounter cabinet, hidden in the largest pot. Shaking his head silently at Maureen’s choice of locations – he would have put it somewhere more accessible – he handed the colander to Richie. Once the pasta had been mixed, Cory found plates, Richie dished them servings straight from the pot, and, taking the wine and after a search for silverware, they took seats at the table.

“To unexpected but welcome company,” Cory proposed as his toast.

Richie laughed and touched his glass to Cory’s before sipping. “Indeed. Where were you driving from?”

“Stanwood,” Cory told him. “But I need to get an updated map. This highway doesn’t go where I thought it would.”

“If you’re thinking it goes down around Seacouver, it doesn’t anymore. Maureen said the old wooden bridge over the North Seacouver River collapsed this past summer when some idiot in an overloaded U-Haul didn’t read the ‘no trucks allowed’ sign.”

Cory grimaced. “Did everyone get out okay?”

“Far as I know, but the bridge won’t get fixed until they figure out if the state has enough money to do it. In the meantime, you have to take the Old River Road or backtrack east to I‑5.”

“That explains the signs I saw,” Cory murmured, and took a bite of the beefy-mac-and-cheese-with-spinach dish. The pasta, beef, and spinach were perfectly cooked, and the cheese sauce was rich without being heavy. “This is delicious.”

Richie looked pleased. “Thanks. What is your go-to comfort food?”

“Eggs and toast,” Cory replied. “Especially if the eggs are farm fresh and the bread’s still warm from the oven.”

“Do you like runny eggs? I still haven’t figured out if I like them that way.”

Cory smiled. “I’ll eat them almost any way I can get them. I don’t like them fermented, though. That’s just gross.”

“People do that? That just sounds awful. Like why?”

“Cultural delicacies,” Cory offered. “Like this dish would seem too much for someone who’s never eaten it. Also, we used to preserve food to make sure it lasted, and sometimes that means a modern person thinks that food is gross.”

“And what do you think?”

“There’s some food I’m glad I’m no longer eating,” Cory admitted.

Richie grinned. “I can imagine.”

Cory kept the conversation light, not wanting to take them down dark paths. To his relief, Richie accepted the discourse on food and places they’d been. Cory flirted gently, not wanting to overwhelm the other man, but making it clear that he was interested. Richie responded cautiously as he ate slowly, but his wariness quickly vanished in favor of his desire to know what Cory thought. They ate everything Richie had made and polished off the bottle of wine.

“Any objections to cleaning up the mess I made before we do anything else?” Richie started the water running in the sink and added dish soap from the counter. The kitchen had a dishwasher, but Cory suspected that between the few dishes they had dirtied and Richie’s nerves, hand washing was his chosen stalling tactic.

Cory rose and met him by the sink. He studied the younger immortal, seeing a man more settled than when they had entered the house. It had not escaped Cory’s notice that Richie had been careful not to rush through eating, as if he had been on short rations lately. Given what Richie had said so far, Cory suspected Richie had been limiting his caloric intake, which would have made processing a powerful Quickening that much more difficult.

“Not if it makes you relax and feel better, Richie. I swear I won’t bite. First time with a guy?”

Richie blew out a breath and met his gaze. “Yeah.” He lifted a brow challengingly. “That change anything?” He looked away to check the water temperature and then set their plates in the water to soak.

“No.” Cory waited until Richie turned to face him, surprise clear on his face, before telling him, “I won't take anything from you you don’t want to give, but you have that look I recognize: what’s coursing through your blood is settled now, but you’re experienced enough to suspect it might come back when you try to sleep.” Cory paused before adding, “Especially if you haven’t been eating much lately.”

“Been trying not to spend a lot of money,” Richie nodded, his shoulders relaxing, “but I couldn’t starve myself, not with the way this city attracts headhunters. I didn’t take half of what Mac told me about Quickenings seriously. Didn’t want to listen, really; surmised the chances of me fighting anyone with him around were low.”

“What changed your mind?”

Richie grimaced. “Same way I’ve learned most everything about being immortal: experience. Pass me the small pot?”

“Hey, least I can do is wash the pots and dishes since you did the cooking.” Cory added, “Pull up a chair and I’ll let you ask me anything.” He stacked the dishes to wash on the right-hand side of the double sink as he hoped his invitation would relax Richie further.

“Were you one of the robbers hitting the stagecoaches in the Old West?”

Cory barked a laugh. “What do you think?”

“You tried it a few times, enough to figure out the best way to steal from the guys stealing from the stagecoaches.”

“What makes you say that?” Startled at the accuracy of that guess, Cory glanced back at where Richie lounged against the wall of the kitchen.

“Just a flash of memory from when you met Kenny.”

Cory nodded. Absorbing the loser’s store of knowledge via their Quickening sometimes resulted in oddball memories, abilities, and skills sticking out, things you later would swear you hadn’t known before, but were byproducts of the win. “Didn’t take me long to figure out the money was sometimes desperately needed where it was going, or that the gangs stealing it were more interested in pissing it away on booze, gambling, and whores. I figured if I stole it, I would give it to people who’d use it to help others. Kenny convinced me he was one of those needy kids, but then he tried to con a con artist. I pretended to sleep, and he came for my head.”

“And you let him go because you assumed he was innocent – or if not innocent, just trying to do his best with a bad stroke of luck.”

“Yeah,” Cory agreed ruefully. “I take it you met him?”

“Twice. Once, Amanda protected him from me and Duncan. I told myself the second time he tried to kill me and Duncan, I wouldn’t give Kenny another chance to keep on living.”

Cory grimaced. “Yeah, that was my vow, too. Next question.”

“Were you always bisexual?”

Cory half-chuckled as he rinsed the skillet and set it in the dish drainer. “I didn’t have the word for it for several centuries. I was raised – well, Catholic is what you’d call it now, but back then it was just the Church – and I liked people. My family drummed it into me that being different would get me killed. I didn’t care. My teacher spent several decades alternately terrified I would be killed for loving who I loved and hounding me about being better at defense strategies. As it was, I was hanged once for it, and tied to a horse and run out of town another. I’m old enough to remember when nobody blinked twice at a royal having a male lover, but God forbid he had a mistress he treated with any respect. Or that if any non-royal man had sex with another man, everyone was convinced he was going to hell, for that matter. Rules were different for peasants.” Unconsciously, his accent had thickened into an English one. Hearing it, Cory forced himself to drop it before adding, “Money still talks – that, at least, hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve been alive. Rules have always been different if you have the funds to pay your way out of any situation.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “Okay, so I now have to break down and ask. How old are you?”

“I was born in 1256,” Cory admitted. “They hanged me for stealing the king’s deer. Matthew, my teacher, was the sheriff who arrested me and then cut me down from the tree after I’d died.”

“And you’ve been playing cops and robbers ever since?” Incredulous, Richie stared at him.

“I know what I’m good at?” Cory tried.

Richie shook his head. “I know better than to debate that kind of thing with immortals older than me.”

Cory chuckled. He set the plate he’d just rinsed in the drainer. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been contemplating changing professions. Technology is shifting; I can see a growing push towards computerization. That will change how we create identities and establish ourselves.”

Richie made a face at that. “It’s hard enough as it is for me to look like I’m barely old enough to drink. But I do like computers. If I had enough money, I’d go and take a class on them so I wouldn’t be stupid about them. Are you considering doing that?”

Nodding, Cory soaped up the colander. “I need to understand what kind of trouble they represent for what I do, if nothing else, and I’m overdue for laying low for a while.” Reluctantly, he admitted, “Washington State cops want me for my last heist, which means either I’m getting sloppy or they’re getting smarter.”

“I can’t see someone who’s been a thief for seven centuries being sloppy.”

Cory barked a laugh. “Your faith in my skills is reassuring, but much as I don’t enjoy admitting it – yes, I’ve been sloppy. I wasn’t expecting them to notify the state police as quickly as they did. I missed something in scoping out that bank.”

“Around here, the cops have cooperative agreements with each other to help them police areas that are unincorporated, so you might see a Seacouver patrol car where it’s county jurisdiction or state police where you think it’s county,” Richie offered.

“Damn it,” Cory realized. “That must’ve been it. How do you know?”

Richie chuckled. “Made that mistake a while back. Was convinced a Seacouver city cop couldn’t arrest me out in the county.”

Cory made a moue of distaste. “Whatever happened to ‘not my jurisdiction?’” he complained.

“I don’t know, but let’s change the topic, how’s that sound?” At Cory’s nod, Richie asked, “What’s the one thing you would go back and tell your twenty-four-year-old self about sex and love?”

Cory considered the question as he soaped up the next pot. After rinsing it clean, he set it in the drainer. With a chuckle, he told Richie, “I doubt I can stop at one thing, but I’d probably start with ‘sex is more fun with someone you like, and it’s not a sin to enjoy it.’” He found the saucepan and utensils Richie had used and dropped them into the soap to soak a moment. “Which makes me wonder how old you are, Richie.”

“Twenty-four,” Richie told him. “I’ll be twenty-five in September. I died when I was nineteen, about a month after my birthday. Duncan kicked me out a few weeks after that.”

“Why the hell did he do that?” Astonished, Cory looked at Richie, seeing a depth of experience that didn’t match his chronological age. “You managed to win against an immortal who was willing to cheat to win, and my gut says that’s not something Duncan would’ve taught you in a few weeks. Matthew, my teacher, stayed with me a decade before he deemed me ready enough to be on my own. He wanted me to be able to fight against anyone – man, woman, child; it didn’t matter. He even brought in a friend to make sure I learned the lessons he was teaching. I can’t begin to tell you how many times Matthew walked off in anger at something I said or did, but he always came back and finished the lesson. What did you do to piss Mac off?”

Richie looked resigned as he replied, “It was right after I took my first head. He had been on my case about being too reckless, too eager for a fight. Said that now I’d taken a Quickening, I was ready to be on my own. He gave me some money and a sword and told me good luck.”

“That’s a crock of bullshit,” Cory told Richie, angry on his behalf. “Did you know how to budget your money? Or have somewhere to go, or did he leave you to figure that out too? Or that some of us have no morals about using others and use that lack to win in the Game, like Kenny did? How good were you at winning that one fight?”

“It was my second fight against another immortal. I couldn’t take her head the first time. Mac convinced her to walk away and call it a mercy.” He grimaced. “And no, I didn’t know where I was going to go. Duncan made it clear I wasn’t welcome to stay in his house anymore, so I just packed a bag and took off down the road. Crashed with a friend that first night and figured I’d just head south. I’m glad I didn’t meet Kenny in my first three months; I wouldn’t be alive now.”

“And how did you win that second fight?”

“He stepped into a bad spot on the floor and sort of fell onto my sword,” Richie admitted. “Until that point, he was winning, but I was giving him a fight, which he was not expecting. I was not at all ready for that Quickening. He was over seven hundred years old and furious at losing like that.” He shook his head at that memory. “That was in ‘94. Been on my own ever since, though Mac and I were getting along pretty well last year.” Richie’s voice held a wealth of resignation, as if he had long ago learned to expect less from Duncan MacLeod.

For a moment, rage filled Cory’s vision. _How dare MacLeod abandon a student and then yell at me for being reckless!_ he thought. He promised himself the next time he saw Duncan, he’d get him back for neglecting his student.

Breathing deep, Cory reminded himself that Richie was alive, had won against one of the wiliest immortals Cory had ever known, and was resourceful enough to survive despite the lack of support. He was also making Cory want to take him into his arms and never let him go. If Cory wasn’t careful, this encounter with Richie would become more than just helping a fellow immortal settle a Quickening, more than just Cory indulging in his appreciation of an attractive man. Needing answers to soothe his anger, Cory finished washing the dishes and dried his hands on the towel hung over the under-sink cabinet door.

“Did something cause a conflict between you and Duncan?”

“Yeah. Three years ago, Duncan took a Dark Quickening and tried to kill me. A friend shot him and saved me. I ran and took up headhunting for a year, convinced I needed to get them before they got me and that Mac would come for me. When he finally did, he wanted to talk me out of headhunting.”

“Was he successful?”

Richie shrugged. “His wasn’t the most convincing argument.”

Cory chuckled softly. “Someone else came for revenge?”

Startled by the accuracy of that guess, Richie asked, “Happened to you?”

“A couple of times. I haven’t always wanted to listen to my teacher, even when it’s turned out he was right. You don’t get to be my age without fighting others, much as I like to pretend the Game doesn’t exist.”

“I’d rather not fight,” Richie admitted. “But the year I spent headhunting taught me a lot about what I value most and why I’d fight someone now.”

“And that would be?”

“Because what they did is so horrible that turning them over to the police would only be a temporary fix. People like Kenny are predators. Kenny didn’t give a shit about who he killed or how many ways they sacrificed to care for him for however long they did. He just wanted to win. He was bitter about forever being stuck in an eleven-year-old’s body. I mean, I don’t want to look for a fight or overload because I thought I was the better judge of someone’s character than some impartial jury, but at the same time, I know there are those of us out there who really are not good for the rest of us trying to live decent lives.”

Cory nodded. “Knowing why you’d fight versus just trying to get a leg up on the Game matters. Mac never asked you those questions?”

“If he did, my answers then differ from the way I’d answer them now. I lived with him for a year before I died the first time. Was kidnapped a few times by a few of his enemies, hoping to use me and Mac’s girlfriend against him. Mac always talked about how the Game was a good vs. evil battle. I don’t think it’s as black-and-white as that, not after what I’ve experienced. Sometimes it’s just an extended grudge match, and sometimes it’s just a guy trying to play the Game,” Richie replied, smiling ruefully. “Do you still talk to your teacher?”

With a smile, Cory said, “He arrests me regularly, so yes. Sometimes I like to call him to make sure he hasn’t turned into a stuck-up sourpuss.”

That got him a smile, as he suspected it would. “You ever consider doing something else, something that would turn your skills into a white knight kind of thing?”

“Never considered it,” Cory said honestly. “People hire thieves to do that?”

“Why not? I mean, if I were a business owner, I’d want to know how to break into my place – and if someone pro could rob me blind – so I’d be able to buy the right security.”

“Huh, may have to look into that,” Cory said. After hanging the dishtowel on the under-sink cabinet handle to dry, Cory closed the distance between him and Richie.

At his approach, Richie straightened out of his slouch against the wall. “Cory–”

“If you tell me no, I’ll respect it, Richie.”

“Wasn’t what I was going to say,” Richie countered. “What I was going to ask was, ‘Want to move this to the bedroom?”

“Impatient to get started?” Cory teased him gently. “I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Richie raised his eyebrows. “I’ve had sex before and I don’t need to be seduced. We both want the same thing.” He clenched his hands as he held his arms beside his body, betraying his nerves.

“You told me it’s your first time with a guy; I can tell you’re nervous. If we were to go to the bedroom and fuck now, I suspect you’d rabbit at the first chance you got instead of letting me hold you afterwards. I like to cuddle with my lovers and make sure they’ve enjoyed what we’ve done, so it’s not an anonymous fuck, but something special. Don’t you?”

At Richie’s rueful smile, Cory closed the distance between them, stopping a forearm’s distance away. “Let me teach you how much fun this can be, Richie. Sex is more fun between friends. I like you a lot and you don’t hate me.”

Richie chuckled sheepishly at that. “No, hate’s not what I’m feeling for you. Not after what you’ve done for me today.”

“I’ve called someone a friend for worse reasons than ‘they don’t hate me, and they don’t want to kill me,’ but you and are working something deeper than that.” He met Richie’s gaze and stepped half a step closer. “Which means you and I are friends. Friends can be friends with benefits, don’t you agree?”

Amused, Richie replied, “Yes. Seems like that’s what we’re working on.”

“Excellent. I love that kind of friendship. I also love to kiss. Don’t you?”

Richie took a deep breath. “Yes. Cory, please? You keep talking and I just might be convinced you don’t want this with me.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong, because I want to make love to you. I want you to know how beautiful you are. You’re so strong, Richie; you won what must’ve been a hell of a battle, given the way Kenny was trying to cheat. You deserve all the love I can give you right now.”

Deliberately, Cory closed what little distance remained between them and kissed the other man, keeping it closed-mouth for now.

Richie stiffened at the first kiss.

Undaunted, Cory assured him, “I can stop, Richie. I won’t be offended if you change your mind and tell me no. I won’t think any less of you for it either.” Deliberately, he stepped back, giving Richie space.

“No,” Richie shook his head. “Just – haven’t been with another immortal in a long time, and it’s been over six months since anyone’s kissed me. Or hell, held me close.” He smiled sheepishly. “Forgot what it felt like.”

Cory chuckled softly. “Hey, it’s been several months for me too, but–” He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Beautiful man like you and no one’s kissed or held you in six months? Now, that’s a tragedy. Relax, Richie, and let me fix that problem. I’ll be gentle; we’ll take this as fast or as slow as you want and go as far as you want to go.”

Richie took a deep breath and unclenched his hands. “Well, when you put it that way–” He spread his arms wide, inviting Cory to step into them.

Cory leaned in and put his arms around the other man. He took his time kissing him, wanting to enjoy every second. He pressed his mouth against Richie’s insistently until Richie opened his mouth to accept his tongue and kissed him back, ratcheting up the heat between them. Cory upped the ante, breaking the kiss to trail a path down Richie’s neck until Richie’s head fell back and he moaned. Cory stroked Richie’s body and pressed his body close, letting Richie know what they were doing aroused him. He kept his eyes open, mindful of any sign that what they were doing was not what Richie wanted, but so far, all signs pointed to green.

Slipping his right hand onto Richie’s jeans, Cory cupped the treasure he found there and pressed insistently. Richie arched into Cory’s hand even as he met Cory’s kisses, breathless and hungry. Deftly, Cory unfastened Richie’s jeans and reached into his briefs for a closer touch, stroking what he found.

“Cory!”

“Too much?” Cory asked huskily, enjoying the flush of pleasure that painted Richie’s face and neck. It made Cory wonder if that flush was a full-body sort of thing, made him want to take Richie’s clothes off.

“Much more and I won’t be able to stand.” Richie clutched Cory’s biceps, panting heavily. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” he suggested again.

Nodding and grinning, Cory led the way. Once in the master bedroom, he stripped Richie out of the clothes he was wearing, then hastily discarded his clothing to the same pile.

“In a hurry?” Richie teased as he took the cue to pull the covers back and climbed into bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cory flashed him a grin, hearing bravado mixed with desire. “Maybe not, but if this gets to be too much for you, tell me and I’ll stop. I don’t want you regretting this.”

Richie met his gaze. “So far you have done nothing I haven’t done with a woman, and I’m enjoying it.”

Relieved by those words, Cory slid onto the bed next to him and pulled him into his arms, kissing him until Richie moaned again. Wanting to hear that sound again, Cory then gently pushed Richie to his back and explored his body with his hands and tongue. Richie was lean and muscular, something Cory appreciated, since it gave him such interesting angles to explore. Cory treasured the first time with a new lover, especially in a situation like this, where he was introducing another man to the delights shared by two men.

Cory was competitive enough to want every male lover after him to be compared to him. He took his time, kissing, stroking, and tasting every inch of Richie’s body, lingering on his most sensitive and intimate places, until Richie pleaded with him to stop teasing, to go deeper, become one body with him. Richie’s unconscious vocalizations of his arousal went a long way to reassuring Cory. The sound of such a vocal lover stroked an old kink Cory had that dated to when he’d had to be quieter, more circumspect, and he reveled in it now.

Arousal and exertion had painted a full-body flush across the younger immortal’s pale skin. In this moment, Richie’s mind was on the pleasure Cory was giving him, and it made Cory proud. Belatedly, Cory realized he had gotten so caught up in giving Richie pleasure he had forgotten to grab an important piece to the equation.

“Be right back,” Cory promised. “I need to get something out of my duffel bag.”

He ran back to the living room, where he had dumped his duffel bag, found the bottle of lube he carried in his toiletry kit, and ran back to the bedroom. The short wait had cooled some of Richie’s ardor, but it didn’t take long before Richie was once again arching into Cory’s touch, pleading with him for more.

“Cory!” Richie gasped. “Don’t – don’t tease!”

“Not teasing,” Cory managed as he moved forward in the age-old rhythm, loving the expression on his new lover’s face. Desire pounded through Cory’s blood, making him want to hurry, but he wanted Richie to love this experience. In this moment, Richie was the only man who mattered to Cory, everything was new, and treating him like the treasure he was took every ounce of Cory’s attention. Their bodies moved together with the reverence of the newly initiated, punctuated with the fervor igniting their blood. Passion had never tasted this sweet, and Cory was convinced he wouldn’t forget this moment. Cory’s focus narrowed to this room, this man and his responses, and figuring out how to ensure he experienced only pleasure. Words soon lost their coherency as together, they raced up and then fell off the cliff of desire.

In the aftermath, Cory held Richie close, hearing his breathing slow, and appreciating that Richie seemed inclined to cuddle.

As the minutes ticked by, however, Cory grew concerned. “You okay?” he asked, worried at Richie’s silence, especially after how vocal he had been.

“Ask me again when I’ve found my brain again.”

Cory chuckled and went to kiss him.

Richie held up a hand. “Not until after you’ve brushed your teeth. When we’re in the moment, I don’t mind, but when we’re done, I don’t like the taste as much.” He considered that idea a moment, even as he leaned in closer to Cory. “On second thought – I could use a shower and should brush my teeth, too.”

“We could shower together,” Cory offered.

Richie took a deep breath. “No offense, but I’d like a moment alone.”

Nodding, Cory let him go. “Just remember, Richie – anything that happens next is up to you. I still consider you to be a friend, regardless. I know how settling a Quickening can burn through that need for intimacy. If you tell me you don’t want more sex, I won’t pressure you for more.”

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Relief at hearing Cory’s words flooded Richie as he climbed out of bed, gathered his clothes, and rummaged through his duffel bag, which he had dropped in the living room, for clean underwear and a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a travel-sized bottle of shampoo, and the bar of soap he kept in his toiletry kit. The Quickening had settled, thanks to the intense round of sex. Going to use the other bathroom had been a test, but Cory hadn’t followed. Some part of Richie, afraid Cory would be as insistent as Kristen had been at needing to be with him until she had gotten bored, sighed in relief. Richie detoured briefly to the linen closet in the hallway to grab fresh towels, unwilling to use the same ones Kenny had dirtied.

As he stood in the guest bathroom, brushing his teeth, Richie could hear the echo of the shower in the other bathroom; clearly, Cory had decided he, too, wanted to be clean. The guest bathroom was stocked with soap and shampoo, but Richie was picky enough to care about which soap and shampoo he used that he was glad he had brought his own. As he showered, Richie concluded that what he had shared with Cory was more than a post-Quickening fuck. Cory confused and surprised him with his caring; it was a depth Richie hadn’t expected. He surmised Cory had cultivated a prankster’s mask to hold people at bay. Richie knew he ought to be freaking out, but he had always been someone who waited until he was safe and calm before he allowed his panic to happen. Still, he was left with an irrefutable fact: he’d just given his gay virginity to a man who’d been Amanda’s lover, with a reputation for not being serious, who had run him over twice as a practical joke. On that basis, Cory should have been the last man Richie selected as his first male lover. Yet the man who’d stood in the kitchen of this house, talking Richie down from his instinctive panic at letting another immortal, let alone another man, close, was someone more compassionate and with far more depth than Richie had suspected. That man, who’d helped Richie bury Maureen and Kenny, who’d offered to make love to him and then turned said encounter into one of the best experiences with sex Richie had ever had, intrigued Richie. Strip away the prankster, and the deeply caring man who had lived over seven centuries was suddenly exposed. Richie wanted more. How Cory would react if he took control in bed? Would he appreciate the gesture? Richie wanted to hear Cory drop in that English accent again instead of his usual Midwest one; wanted to hear what other stories Cory had to share.

Sex had always come easily to Richie. Mac had teased him about his string of lovers, but Richie had always enjoyed sex with a willing partner. Love – the sort he’d seen between Tessa and Mac – was a long shot in Richie’s eyes. While he’d tried to find it, he had realized he was much more successful at finding fun. As long as his partner understood he wasn’t committing to forever, Richie saw no problem with getting laid often. He’d only considered expanding his horizons to include men after seeing the more positive experiences reflected in the Quickenings he’d taken. He had feared appearing stupid, inept, and graceless, or that whoever he’d chosen for his first time would be rough, impatient, and less diligent about prep. Cory had made it easy, seducing him with a gentleness and caring that made Richie crave a repeat experience.

Richie held no pretense that what they were sharing was more than lust, but what they had shared hadn’t felt anonymous or like Cory had only been interested in getting off. Richie knew that kind of sex well; he’d indulged in it enough to know when genuine caring and consideration had guided his lover’s actions. As he stood in the shower, Richie shivered in remembered pleasure as he remembered how careful Cory had been, how he’d ensured Richie had enjoyed what they had done. He inhaled sharply, remembering how Cory’s mouth on him had sent him crashing through a mountain of pleasure, how Cory inside him had turned that mountain into another cascade of bliss, and how he wanted both again. Not for the first time, Richie reveled in having a lover with centuries of experience.

Richie had fallen in love with other immortals before, only to discover they were using him. At least this time, he assumed what Cory was getting out of it was pleasure and distraction. If some nefarious purpose appeared later, at least Richie had satisfied his curiosity about what sex with another man was like, with someone who had taken the time to make sure he had experienced pleasure more than pain. Yet if this was only lust, Richie’s heart would not thud at the knowledge Cory was waiting for him in the other bedroom. Cory’s competence, handsomeness, humor, and compassion would not be a magnetic pull, luring him back.

Quickenings changed people. Richie wasn’t the same man he’d been at seventeen, who had seen two immortals fight for the first time, never dreaming he would one day be one of those immortals. He had fought too much, taken in the experiences and knowledge of people centuries older and from non-American cultures. With each new Quickening, he had to redefine who he was, given the knowledge, skills, and experience he had just gained. Taking Kenny’s head within minutes of his taking Maureen’s had knocked Richie for a loop, especially since Kenny had coated his short sword with a poison for maximum impact. It had been years since a Quickening had shaken Richie up; this one felt like it was the first time all over again. That had forced Richie to dig deep into his core personality and had made him remember Mac had told him post-Quickening sex was life-affirming. He hadn’t believed him then, but now – Richie chuckled wryly, realizing Mac had been right.

He felt alive and new. Every sense he had was humming with the awareness that Cory had touched him in a way that no one ever had before, given him pleasure in ways he had only glimpsed in Quickening memories. He wanted to experience it again, craved it. He wanted to be inside Cory the way Cory had been in him, wanted to taste his new lover as Cory had him. Richie was certain once he and Cory parted ways, he’d find other men and learn what was different. For now, however, Richie had a lover waiting for him in the other room – one who undoubtedly was guessing Richie was freaking out.

With a deep inhale, Richie closed his eyes briefly, aware he had a choice. If he exited this bathroom and claimed he had gotten what he had needed to settle the Quickening, which was true, Cory would accept it, and they wouldn’t touch again. Even the thought crossed Richie’s mind, he jerked in an instinctive refusal of the notion. Going back to the bedroom and telling Cory he had gotten enough seemed unimaginable. No, he was deeply attracted, and this first taste was nowhere near enough. From here, it wouldn’t take much to push Richie from lust into love – but he understood the risk.

He doubted they would go anywhere the rest of the evening. If tonight was all he got from Cory, he wanted to make the most of it. It would keep him warm in the coming days, when he’d have to face his nightmares alone. Like a squirrel, Richie wanted to hoard every moment he had with the older immortal. He wanted everything Cory would give him, to let his foolish heart believe, at least for a little while, this man cared about him. If that meant taking advantage of Cory’s willingness to let him explore gay sex, then Richie was all in. Like a desert flower, he was starved for caring and attention, after months without either. Cory was the water he needed to survive, and Richie thirsted for every drop.

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“What next?” Richie asked as he stepped into the master bedroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Richie had only pulled on his underwear, foregoing anything else.

Seated on the bed under the covers, having used the master bathroom to shower, Cory studied him. “Depends on you,” he told Richie. “How are you feeling?”

“Settled and sore,” Richie said promptly, a faint blush rising on his face. “Like I’ve been riding too long on my motorcycle, but different.” He lifted his chin slightly. “I want to do it again.” He tossed the towel back into the bathroom before climbing onto the bed and kissing Cory.

Cory enjoyed the kiss for several moments before reluctantly pulling back, aware they needed to talk. “No regrets? No freaking out?”

Richie shook his head. “Only if I was still the guy I was at seventeen, before my life got turned upside down by meeting the MacLeods. I’ve played the Game enough to understand that sexuality isn’t a fixed point for most people the way I used to think it was. I’ve been curious to see if the things I glimpsed in Quickenings was true.”

“And?” Cory kept his tone nonjudgmental; he remembered the paths that curiosity had led him down.

“And it’s better and worse,” Richie admitted. “Better because I know the pleasure. Worse because I have a personal frame of reference for some memories I’ve seen.”

Cory nodded and reached for Richie’s hand. “One of the worst parts of taking Quickenings is living through memories that aren’t your own. You can spend a lot of time being obsessed with figuring out if reality matches, sometimes with worse consequences. Some things are truly better left as someone else’s memories.”

Richie nodded. “I didn’t want just anyone to be my first male lover. I wanted someone who would make it fun. Thank you, Cory.” A small smile played on his lips as he asked, “Any objection if I show you what I’ve learned?”

Cory barked a laugh before kissing him. “No.” He pushed the covers back, revealing he had not bothered to dress. “Was hoping you’d want to do that.”

With a wicked grin, Richie moved back enough to strip off his underwear and drop it on the side of the bed. “Just remember, Cory: I’m a fast learner.”

Over the next hour, Richie proved he had paid close attention and was a thorough, dedicated lover, intent on driving Cory out of his mind with pleasure. He drew the line at penetrating Cory with more than his fingers, though, claiming he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Cory accepted the limitation gracefully. Richie had surprised him with his willingness to do everything he had so far, and Cory did not want to push. What Richie had given him so far filled Cory with joy. It was late by the time they fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The early hours of the morning revealed the freezing rain had turned to snow.

“We’re not going anywhere today,” Cory told Richie after looking out of the windows in the kitchen while they waited for the coffeemaker to finish brewing. “Likely not even tomorrow. That snow looks like it’s sticking and piling up.”

Wanting to see it for himself, Richie looked out the window and grimaced. “Yeah, looks like we have over an inch already. Roads will be a bitch, especially out here, when this snow stops.”

“You have winter tires on your motorcycle?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. The motorcycle dealer charged me an insane price for them, but now I’m glad I put them on back when I still had money. Good thing we still have power and food. I can do scrambled eggs or pancakes.”

“Coffee first,” Cory insisted. “And time for me to check: you still okay with what we did yesterday?”

In reply, Richie stepped closer and kissed him briefly. “Yes. And the only reason I’m not pressing for more is because I’m hungrier for food than for sex.”

Relieved by that answer, Cory chuckled. “Got it. I can do omelets this morning. For as long as we’re here, we can trade off who cooks. Deal?”

“Deal. I haven’t mastered omelets; mine usually wind up being scrambles.”

It didn’t take Cory much to convince Richie to while away the hours with him by watching TV, flirting, making love, and taking turns cooking. Both men were extroverts who enjoyed getting to know other people, so neither noticed how deeply intimate they became, how their conversations went from surface conversations about what to watch or eat to debates on issues that mattered to them, or how their attraction to each other deepened as the hours passed. Cory was fascinated by Richie’s motorcycle trips through the US, Central America, and Europe, and how the exposure to other cultures had given Richie a deeper sense of what was common across the human experience. In turn, Cory’s opinions on entertainment fascinated Richie, especially how going from watching knights joust in tournaments to staged wrestling fights made life seem like little had changed.

On their second evening together, Cory coaxed Richie into trying out being the pitcher instead of the catcher in their sex play. As he lay under the younger man, Cory watched, desire pounding through his blood, as Richie found the pleasure inherent in such a role. Arousal and affection tangled with each other as Cory held on to his new lover and fed the flames of their desire. In the aftermath of their spent passion, Cory held his lover close, loving that Richie enjoyed post-coital cuddling as much as he did.

“I liked it,” Richie admitted, cuddling close. “I thought I knew what to expect, given I’ve had that kind of sex with a woman, but–” He flushed. “Felt different with you, but I like it when you’re in me more.”

Pleased by that declaration, Cory kissed him. “You’re not less of a man for that, Richie. Anyone who tells you otherwise – don’t give them the time of day.”

Richie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Seems weird to hear you say that aloud, though. I mean, when I’m with a woman, I fully expect to be inside her when we have sex. Maybe not the way two guys would, unless she’s adventurous, but you understand what I mean.”

“Which doesn’t make you anything other than a man who likes sex, and knows what positions he prefers with his lovers,” Cory pointed out calmly. “Doesn’t mean you won’t find someone who only wants one position or who insists you’re less of a man for preferring not to be the penetrative partner when you have sex with another man or some other bullshit. Don’t let them screw with your mind, Richie; knowing what you want and what you don’t is sexy.”

“I won’t,” Richie promised. “But they’re not here in this bed, and you are.” He took a breath before asking, “Do you have a preference?”

Cory smiled and kissed him briefly. “No. I don’t like not being face-to-face with someone I care about, but that’s about it.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “You said something yesterday about how it would be easier if I was on my hands and knees under you, but you stopped me when I tried to get into that position. You didn’t want that position for my first time? Or for what we just did?”

Cory shook his head. “Wanted to see your reaction in case you changed your mind, or we were going too fast for your comfort.”

Richie kissed him and then said, “Thank you for that. Is it easier?”

“Easier to be anonymous and it’s a different angle of penetration,” Cory said, shrugging.

“Huh. Did you want to shower and eat, or did you want to do something more since we’re naked? Say, show me how different being on my hands and knees is?” Richie’s voice held a tinge of insecurity, as if he was certain he was missing out on something important.

To reassure him, Cory kissed him until Richie forgot he had asked a question. Richie turned out to be one of the most enthusiastic, passionate, and responsive lovers Cory had had. Cory loved that Richie had a short refractory time. It meant he could send Richie to sexual heaven multiple times before he allowed himself that same pleasure.

Out of bed, Richie had surprised him with his passion for life. Cory didn’t remember when he had last met another immortal who had been in the Game for five years, lived through so much, and who remained grounded, even cheerful. Beyond the immortal experience, Richie had also surprised him with his passion for movie trivia and how it helped him view politics. As a former thief, Richie did not judge stealing to survive with the same morality as Cory expected from someone who had been Duncan’s student. He even argued with Cory about what made up ‘the richer class,’ claiming that the truly rich invested in security measures too thoroughly to risk a simple heist without proper planning, and that the average account in any bank belonged to someone middle class or lower. He also surprised Cory with his knowledge of French cooking techniques and recipes. For a man who had claimed his cooking skills were just enough to avoid starvation, he had a definite talent and knowledge. It had made Cory pull out his years of collecting oddball but delicious recipes, just to offer something different.

Cory told himself it was just the joy of teaching a passionate man the pleasures of gay sex that made his heart quicken. It wasn’t the thrill of discussing whether a plot point on a TV show was executable in real life or discovering that Richie hated raw red onions as Cory did that made him want to keep spending time with Richie. He wasn’t letting his heart rule his head. When the weather cleared, they would fix the Toyota and part ways, likely to not see each other for years – but Cory didn’t want to contemplate then. He wanted to hold on to what he had with Richie for as long as plausible.

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Richie woke abruptly, startled awake by the remnants of a dream. For a moment, he didn’t recognize where he was, but the sound, warmth, and solidity of Cory sleeping next to him jarred his memory. Careful not to shift too abruptly so as not to wake his lover, Richie rolled to check the nightstand. The digital clock on the nightstand read 1:07 AM. Today would be their third day together.

For a moment, Richie forced himself to exhale and inhale deliberately. Then he rose and used the bathroom, abruptly needing the slight distance.

 _What are you doing here?_ he asked himself as he washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. Some part of him half-expected to see the changes of the last forty-eight hours reflected in his face, but no, it was the same reflection he’d been seeing for the last five years: forever frozen at nineteen. Only his eyes showed his experience. It seemed unfair that even he would not see the difference. While he acknowledged wearing a sign saying ‘I just had the most incredible first time with another man’ was ridiculous, and might get him roughed up, he also sensed the shift in himself. No longer did he have to wonder or rely solely on borrowed memories. Consequently, he felt incredibly changed, indelibly different.

 _You could leave_ , he told himself _. You’ve ridden in snow and ice before; it’s a bitch but Seacouver is only a half hour’s drive away. Cory hasn’t promised you anything he hasn’t already delivered on. There’s nothing to keep you – or hell, him – from leaving right now._

 _But I don’t want to leave or stop_ , he answered himself. _What we’ve shared so far has been so incredible. He makes me feel so wanted, so treasured, as if I’m the only one he’s ever introduced to gay sex like this, which I know can’t be true, not as old as he is. He cares what I think, in and out of bed. I don’t have to prove a damn thing to anyone anyway. Only person who might demand an explanation is Mac, and it looks like Mac doesn’t care about what’s happening in Seacouver, given how the last time I asked Joe if he’d heard from Mac, Joe said no. If Connor was aware I was out here alone, he’d show up, which tells me either he’s busy or he has no clue._

 _I don’t want Connor or Mac showing up,_ Richie decided. _They’ll look at me like I was doing something wrong. Mac always thinks I can do better, but that’s his default thinking when it comes to me. Someday I’m going to explain I don’t think I can measure up to whatever standard he thinks I can meet. I don’t want to figure out what the hell I did to piss Connor off or if he’s just messing with me. Last time he was in Seacouver was when Tessa and I died and I just – I don’t want him judging this. I don’t want him asking me how I’ve been managing my money, don’t want him to see I miscalculated how much the last race I was in would cost me, the repairs I had to make to my motorcycle, or that the motel prices had gone up since last year or that Mac wouldn’t be here for me to crash at his place. Part of me is certain Connor would handle knowing I’ve been with Cory better than Mac; he’s always struck me as being more of a pirate, less rigid in his beliefs. I can just hear him teasing me that my discovering I enjoy having sex with another man means I’m leaving more good women for him. I don’t want Mac or Connor judging whatever this is I have with Cory, especially given how Mac was so mad at him for something he did in the 1920s._

_I just want to enjoy Cory’s undivided attention, for however long it lasts, and be with someone who gives a damn. Cory makes me feel like I’m the most important person in his life. Maybe it’s just the snow and the proximity and a bunch of stuff I can’t contemplate, but I needed this. Needed him to show me I’m bi, like I’ve been wondering ever since I took Carter Wellan’s head and saw how he’d loved one man for centuries despite the hardships they suffered. Maybe I’m just Cory’s Mr. Important Right Now, but damn, I’m already addicted to his touch, to his concern for me, to the way he holds me. He says I’m beautiful – and it means so much he doesn’t call me anything Kristen or Felice did, not even ‘baby,’ because it sets him apart. He’s a con artist and a thief, but damn, I’ve been that too, and… He’s not conning me with the way he’s treating me. You can fake things, but not when you’re barely awake or asleep, and he was holding me close, as if he wanted me right where I was. And Cory’s not making any demands on me I can’t refuse. He’s not clinging, but I’m vividly aware of him next to me, in my personal space, in this house. I’ve had moments where I’ve forgotten he’s another immortal, capable of taking my head – and the last immortal I did that with was Mac, before the Dark Quickening._

_I want what Cory’s giving me, want him touching me again, hear him debate with me why some food combinations should be outlawed, enjoy his cooking again. Hell, he even holds me when we’re lying on the couch watching TV, and he’s the first lover I’ve had to do that in years. I’d forgotten I’d missed that. He doesn’t hold back his affection; he’d been touching me nonstop ever since we made love the first time. I look back and I wonder why the hell I didn’t assume he was more than the prankster he first showed himself to be, given how I sometimes have let Mac think all I care about is motorcycle racing. I feel privileged to see the caring man under the prankster mask._

_He didn’t have to stay after he helped me bury the bodies, but he did, and now I’m different for it. I wasn’t expecting him to offer me a post-Quickening fuck but then I took his dare and it wasn’t a fuck but making love and teaching me everything I didn’t know about gay sex and I want him even more than I did yesterday._

_Oh God, I’m so screwed._

Deliberately, Richie made himself take a breath and refocus.

_So why am I freaking out now? Oh, right, I usually freak out when everything’s calm, after all the chaos has settled._

Footsteps approached the bathroom door. Cory knocked before asking, “You okay, Richie?”

Richie opened the door to find Cory looking worried. “Just – you know how you wake up suddenly and don’t remember where you are and need to check you’re still you?”

Cory nodded and kissed him. “Yeah. Freaking out a little over everything?”

Richie offered a rueful smile. “Usually happens when I’m feeling safe.”

“Was wondering if you were one of those people and was hoping it would happen when we were still together. Come back to bed and I’ll hold you. It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

“Thanks, Cory.” Willing to accept the comfort, Richie turned off the bathroom light and climbed into the bed. “I take it this has happened to you too?”

True to his word, Cory pulled the covers over them both and cuddled him close. “Yeah. One of my worst nights, I couldn’t remember what name I’d been using, what I was doing where I was, and three hours passed before I realized my horse had wandered off.”

“What did you do?”

“Focused on the practical: finding my horse, hoping I owned something with my name on it. When I found nothing, I rode into the nearest town. First time in my life I was glad to see a wanted poster with my name on it.”

Richie chuckled softly. “That would be disconcerting. I’m glad you’re here, Cory.” He shifted to kiss him, abruptly needing more contact. “I love what you’ve shown me so far. Want your hands on me, your cock inside me.”

Cory arched an eyebrow. “That so? You up for that now? You don’t have to prove anything, Richie.”

Richie met his gaze in the shadowed light of the bedroom. This close, he read the concern on Cory’s face. “I’m done freaking out, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And if I said I just wanted to hold you and sleep?”

Suspecting this was a test, Richie grinned. A part of him was relieved to see that Cory hadn’t taken him up on the offer. Had Cory done so, Richie’s perception of what Cory wanted from him would have shifted, would have put Cory more solidly in the good-time lover category, but this refusal changed things. “Then consider it a promissory note for when we wake up, or later. I’m not in a rush, and I’m enjoying the way you’re holding me now.”

“Good.” Cory kissed him, achingly sweet and slow. It felt like a love note, full of reassurance, and something in Richie eased to feel it. “Because I want you, but I also want you to sleep.” He looked as though he might have said more, but tucked Richie more comfortably in his arms instead. Soon, they both slid back into sleep. Richie’s last thought was that if he wasn’t already guarding his heart, Cory would steal it right about now.

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On the morning of the fourth day, the weather turned sunny. The temperatures warmed enough to work on fixing the sedan, which didn’t take that long. After they’d fixed the sedan, Cory found himself reluctant to leave Richie alone. Some part of his heart warned him he was more than halfway intrigued by his new lover. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me? Was headed down south towards Phoenix; you’re welcome to come along.”

Richie shook his head. “I’ll go see a friend named Joe. He has a blues club named after him; he’d pay me to tend bar for a shift or two, just so he’s not on his legs so much.”

“Why is that a problem for him?” Cory wondered.

“Because he’s disabled. He lost his legs in Vietnam to a land mine and wears prosthetics.”

“Oh. And if he doesn’t hire you?”

Richie shrugged. “I can tend bar anywhere, and I still have some money left in my savings. If I have to, I know what Maureen’s PIN number for her ATM card is.”

That surprised Cory. “You don’t have the same objection to taking money from the dead that Mac does? He sees it as stealing.”

Richie shook his head. “It’s how I funded the year I spent headhunting. I was too terrified Mac could track me somehow if I touched my bank account. I try not to do it if I don’t have to, especially if it was a friend’s money. I’ll be all right, Cory. I’ve lived through worse, trust me.”

Hoping his gut instinct that Richie was in deeper trouble than he had initially led Cory to believe was wrong, Cory took a deep breath and forced himself to leave. Richie was old enough and strong enough to survive alone; Cory had to trust the younger immortal’s judgment. Besides, there was a warrant out for Cory’s arrest; staying meant risking jail, and Cory knew he had a small window before the Washington State police went looking for him. Still, he wanted more: more time with the younger man, more chances to enjoy his passion in and out of bed.

Seeing his hesitation, Richie added gently, “Besides: didn’t you tell me you do better when you don’t have to worry about accomplices? And that the state police wanted to arrest you?”

Hating he had told Richie that, Cory nodded ruefully. “Yeah. One more kiss for luck?”

“If you insist,” Richie teased.

Wanting to make it memorable, Cory didn’t hesitate to let the kiss say everything he couldn’t put into words. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been with someone and had fallen in this deeply in – his mind skittered away from saying love – in something more than a simple ‘like’ and ‘lust.’ He stepped back, pleased to see Richie open his eyes in a daze. “Be careful, Richie.”

“Watch your head, Cory.” A small smile played on Richie’s lips as he added, “Both of them. Don’t let Amanda fool you again.”

“Same to you.” With that, Cory stepped into the Toyota sedan and drove out to the junction that led to the interstate. Cory pulled off the road, waiting to see what Richie would do. He heard Richie’s motorcycle start up and saw him follow him off the property before turning southeast, towards Seacouver. With a deep sigh, Cory told himself he had gotten way more from Richie than he had ever expected given the last time they had met and kept on driving.

He got as far as the Washington/Oregon state line before he swore viciously and turned around. Richie reminded him of himself. Alone, homeless, without his teacher around, Cory could easily picture Richie floundering, burning through whatever money he had and ending up back on the street. Or worse: Cory could see Richie going hunting for the adrenaline rush of a Quickening, on the flimsy pretext of Seacouver being a magnet for headhunters. That way lay madness. Too many Quickenings could overload a man.

Cory didn’t want that happening to such a bright soul. He’d watched it happen once too often in his long life; had lost lovers and friends because he’d abandoned them to the vagaries of fate rather than extend a hand. Cory had spent too much of his life risking his freedom to steal money, materials, and other resources to aid the less fortunate. If he didn’t help Richie, whom he knew was teetering on an edge, the chances of Cory having any shot at his friendship – much less his love – went down exponentially. Plus, Cory knew his heart was involved – and while it wasn’t yet a lasting love, it was enough of an emotion that Cory didn’t want to lose it, not when it had so much potential.

It didn’t take him long to find Joe’s; a search through one of the phone books in the public library revealed it was the only such named blues club. As it was midafternoon on a Tuesday, the club was empty; blues music filled the air, piped across the bar’s speakers. Cory stepped up to the bar where a stocky man with gray hair and a beard was waiting for the steam from the under-bar dishwasher to dissipate before he unloaded the clean dishes. The man matched the description of the Watcher Amanda had told him was a friend.

Seeing Cory, recognition flashed across his face before he smiled professionally. That cemented Cory’s conviction the man behind the bar was Joe Dawson. “Welcome to Joe’s. I’m Joe. What can I get you?”

“A pint of the dark ale you have on draft,” Cory told him, “and help finding where Richie Ryan might be. He’s in trouble, and I’d like to help him.”

Joe eyed him warily but poured the pint. “Three dollars, please.”

Cory pulled out his wallet and put down a five-dollar bill on the bar. “Amanda warned me you’re very loyal to your friends. I swear I’m not hunting Richie, and I won’t do anything to piss him off again if I can help it. He helped blow me up the last time, and I learned my lesson.”

Joe sighed and gave up the pretense he didn’t know who Cory was. “Why, Cory?”

“Because I’ve been where he is. I’ve pissed off my teacher more times than I can count, but he’s rarely left me without enough rope to either hang myself or pull myself out. If Duncan’s not here, why isn’t Connor? Does Connor even know Richie exists?”

Joe pressed his lips in a thin line. “Hell if I know, and yes, he knows Richie exists. Connor convinced Mac to take Richie in,” he admitted. “My guess is Duncan didn’t call his cousin and assumed I’d help Richie.”

“But he didn’t ask, and you won’t push Richie more than he’s willing to accept,” Cory surmised, sipping his beer.

Joe nodded. “You’re the last person I’d expect to want to help him. Prank him again, yes, but not help him. Where did you meet him?”

“North of here,” Cory hedged, “had to take shelter during the snowstorm. Wound up choosing the same farm as he had.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Maureen’s farm? Please tell me she didn’t take in who was rumored to be here.”

“If that rumor was a boy immortal named Kenneth, nickname Kenny, I’m afraid so. Richie took him out of the Game, but only after Kenny took out Maureen.” Suspecting the Watcher needed a little more convincing, Cory added, “Richie and I were stuck together for three days. We got to talking. He reminds me of me, back when I’d pissed off my teacher and wound up hustling until one day when I looked in the mirror and didn’t like who I’d become. I’d like to spare him that if I can, be his friend. The headhunters will circle like sharks when they discover the Highlander has left his student alone in Seacouver. Especially if Richie has a reputation for being able to win. At the least, I can get him out of here and support him while he figures out what to do next.”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “You’d do that for him, when you have a reputation for not caring for many others of your kind?”

Cory shook his head. “I care a lot about people, period; I wouldn’t risk death to steal to help them if I didn’t. I don’t give a damn about the Game.”

Joe accepted the correction with a nod. He took a deep breath. “Richie sometimes hustles pool down at Magic 8 over on Pinecrest.” He met Cory’s eyes. “Tell him if he needs a job, all he has to do is show up here and I’ll put him to work.”

Cory nodded and shook Joe’s hand. “Appreciate it.” He didn’t bother finishing the beer; it had been more of a prop than anything else.

Thirty minutes later, he found Richie outside of the pool hall.

“I remember you saying you needed to be elsewhere,” Richie said warily.

“Changed my mind. What do you say to spending the next year with me? I’ll go anywhere you want to go, long as it’s not here.”

“And do what? Help you rob banks and money transfer stores?”

“No,” Cory told him honestly. “Richie, it’s been at least half a century since I’ve needed to rob to feed, clothe, or shelter myself. I can spare enough to make sure you’re not stuck out in the cold, hustling for whatever cash you can get. You’ll benefit from being with someone who cares about you, wants to be with you, and who does something other than be a robber all the time, like invest in the stock market. Technology’s changing; I could use someone who’s willing to learn about computers and security with me. I do better when I’m not alone when I’m learning something new.”

Richie looked away briefly. “Why?” he asked challengingly. “I can’t be that good in bed you’d waste your time on me. The last immortal lover I had tried to convince me that a sword was a terrible fashion accessory.”

“Kristen was yet another example of Amanda’s bad choices in students, just like Kenny was,” Cory retorted, and watched Richie’s eyes widen in shock. “I’m not them, and never will be. I want you to live, Richie. I don’t expect you to give up playing the Game just because I don’t care about it. You’re too well known and that would be suicide. Plus, I seriously doubt you’d do well hiding out on holy ground, since you’re willing to fight to defend your friends. That said, I can teach you how to play the Game where it matters – in the court of public opinion. Everyone knows I’m a prankster and thief, right?”

Richie nodded.

“And you’ll always be known as Mac’s student, or at the least, a student of one of the Highlanders.”

“And a headhunter,” Richie said, defiantly.

Cory considered what Richie had told him. “Because Mac tried to kill you, and you had no one else to talk you out of that path.”

The look of old pain on Richie’s face made Cory’s heart ache. “Joe tried to talk me out of going down that path, but I didn’t think he was right. He wanted me to call Connor. I didn’t trust Connor to tell me I was on my own. He seemed eager to dump me on Mac when I met them. I didn’t have a way to contact anyone else – didn’t want them to die, too.” Richie looked at Cory. “I don’t want a handout, Cory. I’ve been here before. At least this time, wherever Mac is, it’s somewhere he can get rest from the Game and not overload again like he did a few years ago. That means I’m not looking over my shoulder, terrified he’s coming to kill me.”

Sensing an advantage, Cory closed the distance between them and caressed Richie’s wrist to his shoulder. “How broke are you?” he asked softly.

Richie grabbed Cory’s hand before he could touch anything else but froze at Cory’s question. “I was planning on hustling enough cash for gas and something to eat. Didn’t really want to drive all the way back out to Maureen’s farm for her ATM card without either, in case I got stuck.” He looked as though going back to get Maureen’s ATM card was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Then what do you have to lose? I promise I won’t hurt you deliberately, I won’t cheat on you or cheat you. I’ll never leave you behind without a backup plan. I won’t lie to you and try to con you. From the little you’ve told me, it sounds like too many people already have done that in your life.”

Richie let go of Cory’s hand. “That’s a loaded promise you’re making, Cory. You don’t strike me as someone who’d make that promise lightly, either. Why me?”

Cory smiled. “You’re worth it, Richie. I’m picky about who I help, because I usually wind up wanting to give them everything I can. That’s always been my way. The last three days with you only cemented my sense that you’re an amazing, beautiful, strong, and resourceful man, who needs more love than you’re getting. I want to be the guy who gives that to you. All I ask is that you communicate; don’t con me into thinking something’s okay when it’s not. Anything you’re not comfortable doing, someone challenges you, you think I’m being an idiot, what you want to do for meals, you need a bathroom break, you need a break from me – be honest, and I’ll do the same for you. Maybe in a few months, we burn through this attraction we have for each other and decide we’re better off friends with no benefits, maybe we fall deeper in love – but I want to see where this emotion takes us. You game?”

Richie stared at him and crossed his arms. “What about the cops?”

“I’ve been running from them for centuries, Richie. Could teach you a few things about how to hide in plain sight, if that’s of interest to you. I don’t worry about getting arrested until it happens. If the cops show up and take me off to jail, I’ll make damn sure someone took care of you until I was released or escaped. I have more friends than Duncan and Amanda, and who are people who’d give a damn about making sure you have options beyond the nearest homeless shelter. My teacher, for one, would make sure you’re safe until I could be free.”

“I don’t want to be your next charity case, Cory. Or, hell, the punchline to an elaborate joke.”

“You’re not,” Cory denied, anger creeping into his voice. “I don’t joke about falling in love with someone. Damn it, Richie, you’re drowning, and you don’t even realize you’re underwater. How long before you go hunting for the rush, for the knowledge you’re worth something, even if it’s fleeting? You’re already compromising on where you’re getting your money, and that look of distaste you’re giving me says everything about how you feel about it. How much lower do you want to let yourself go, knowing you have me offering you a better choice?”

Richie looked away briefly. “You’ve been in my shoes.”

“Too many times, before I wised up and realized the first person I had to be kind to was myself. How else would I know how to steal a Quickening and ensure it goes solely to me? I’ve been in worse places than you; if I can spare you that experience, I will. Look, I realize three days isn’t a long time to base a relationship on, but I want to be with you. I want to see the road through your eyes, have you teach me about modern songs and slang and whatever else comes up. If you don’t want to be my lover, I’m okay with that, but I want to be your friend.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “You’d do that, knowing how I’m in bed?” At Cory’s nod, Richie shook his head. “No, please, I want you, too. I want to get to know you better.” He stepped closer and kissed Cory. “I missed you. Thought about trying to track you down. Told myself I was being a stupid romantic.”

A smile played on Cory’s lips. “It’s okay. We’ll be stupid romantics together. Where would you like to go?”

Richie took a breath. “First, to Mac’s warehouse, so I can put my motorcycle there, and pick up my other clothes so I have more than just what I stuffed in my overnight bag. Second, to Joe, so I can let him know I won’t be able to help him out. Then – where were you headed?”

“To Phoenix, to a place I own outside the city.”

Richie squared his shoulders. “I’d like to travel there with you. I’ve never been to Phoenix.”

Cory kissed him. “Then we shall,” he promised. “Lead the way; I’ll follow you. If you wind up staying longer, we’ll see about getting your motorcycle shipped or getting you a new one.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Richie, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. I’m from an age where my word counted for everything. I’m careful about what I promise to people because of it. That doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about how you should ride something better than a half-beat-up bike or put my foot down about buying you something ridiculously expensive, but – yeah. I’d do that for you. You’re worth it. What I feel for you is worth it.”

Richie met his gaze and straightened his shoulders. “Just as long as you know I’ll give you shit about your musical preferences being stuck in the 1920s.”

Cory laughed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Come on; you can update me in the car once we’ve dropped off your motorcycle.”

With a pleased smile, Richie led the way to where he had parked his motorcycle, and then to Mac’s warehouse. Inside, Cory saw where Richie had set up a large metal-framed futon as his bed and placed a two-drawer nightstand next to it. The futon was piled high with an assortment of quilts. Richie had plugged in a floor lamp and an electric baseboard heater, running extension cords to make up for the fact the nearest outlet was several feet away. The warehouse held moving boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture, making Cory surmise Mac had directed movers to pack his last residence. Boxes stacked next to the unfolded futon had been labeled with Richie’s name.

Noting the direction of Cory’s gaze, Richie grimaced. “I had a room with Mac in his house. He must have done this from Paris through his agent and either I missed a call from him, or he assumed the agent or Joe would tell me.”

Nodding, Cory asked, “Are you mad at him for it?”

Richie shrugged restlessly. “We didn’t talk much when I was out on the road. He wanted me to check in once a month, and I always kept the calls short because my calling card usually didn’t have a lot of minutes on it. Do I hold any of that against him? No. Do I wish he would’ve told me? Hell yes. Had I known sooner, I might have done the last few months differently. I didn’t know where Mac was until I finally got around to asking Joe back in December, when he hired me to help with the holiday crush. After the New Year, though, Joe couldn’t keep me on the payroll.”

To comfort him, Cory stepped closer and kissed Richie, hugging him briefly. “What do you want to bring?”

“Mostly what’s in these boxes,” Richie said, pointing to the two boxes open on the floor next to the nightstand, “and what’s in the nightstand. The left box is clean t-shirts and jeans; the right’s laundry, and the nightstand is socks and underwear.”

Each box was about double the size of a case of paper. “You have a suitcase and a laundry bag somewhere in this mess? If the boxes are all you have, that’s fine, but it’ll be easier to carry it all if you have proper storage. I’ll feel better if we were farther down the road when we do laundry.”

“Yeah, hang on, let me grab them.” It didn’t take them long to pack what Richie was bringing, unplug the electric heater, fold the futon back into a couch, stack the quilts he had used into an empty box, and lock the warehouse.

By the time they stopped by the bar, Joe was in his office in the back.

“I see you found him,” he greeted Cory. “Everything okay?”

Richie answered. “We’re working on it. Just wanted to tell you won’t see either of us for a while.”

Not looking surprised, Joe nodded. “And when Mac asks where you are?”

Cory reached for Richie’s hand and met the Watcher’s eyes. Mischief danced in his eyes as he said, “Tell him he’s with me and I’m taking care of him.”

Joe’s eyes widened. To Richie, he asked, “Are you sure about this? Because this feels like you’re taking a dare.”

“Not a dare,” Richie replied, gripping Cory’s hand. “What we’ve started is something I want to explore. I can’t keep waiting for Mac to come back, Joe, and I need a fresh start somewhere else. This city gets too intense with all the headhunters looking for a fight. You’re one of the few people who’d hire me without a background check, and that’s becoming more common with employers. I’m too broke to pay for formal training in something that pays more than bartending and Cory’s offered to help me. I know you’d find a way to pay me, just to help me out, but I remember you saying business was down and I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Joe acknowledged that with a rueful nod. “Wondered if you were going to head south again, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be alone when you did. Trouble finds you when you leave this city.”

“Yeah, which is why I stuck around as long as I have. At least here, I know where all the good escape routes are. I’ll call you and check in when I can; I know it feels like we’re all leaving you behind, with Mac and Adam gone.”

“Don’t worry about me, kid. Worry about the trouble this old thief will get you into.”

“Not planning on doing anything of the sort,” Cory promised.

“Then I wish you two good luck.” Joe rose to hug Richie, who hugged him warmly.

To Cory, he said, “Don’t break his heart.”

Cory grinned. “Only if he breaks mine first.”

Joe chuckled as Richie protested, “Hey! I won’t do that!”

Cory turned and kissed him. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” Turning to Joe, he pulled out a business card from his wallet and handed it to him. “If you need us, that’s my answering service, and I check it daily.”

Startled and looking a little stunned at the trust Cory was placing in him, Joe said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Cory. Be safe you two.” He shook Cory’s hand formally before deliberately turning away, dismissing them.

Once they were on the interstate, Cory asked, “How important is Joe to you? Amanda trusts him implicitly.”

“He shot Mac and saved me when Mac was under the influence of a Dark Quickening,” Richie admitted. “There’s little I wouldn’t do for Joe because of that.”

“I wondered,” Cory said. Reaching across the center console, Cory gripped Richie’s hand. “If he calls, I’ll make sure we can repay that favor. When we’re out of this state, I’ll pick up a prepaid calling card so you can call Joe anytime.”

“Thanks, Cory.” Deliberately, Richie turned on the radio and found a rock station. “Let me know when you want me to drive.”

“Sure. I stuck a map and a compass in the center console; if you grab that, you can navigate. Some of these roads make me lose which direction I’m facing, especially at night, and I hate that the interstate names get me mixed up. Nothing like pointing my horse in a cardinal direction and knowing that’s exactly how I get to a city.” He chuckled ruefully. “I keep thinking I know where the interstates end and I’m usually wrong.”

“Oh yeah,” Richie agreed fervently, digging into the console for the items. “I hate that. There are sections of the old state highways around here where if you pay attention to what the road name is, you’ll be going south instead of east.”

Chuckling, Cory agreed.

“Um, Cory? This map is way out of date and for the wrong state. Like, we should buy a new one when we stop for gas.”

“That bad?”

“Cory, this is a map of Texas dated 1967.”

“See, this is why I need you,” Cory began, and Richie shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

They wouldn’t find answers to the question of their relationship overnight, Cory knew. Only time and a lot of communication between them would answer that for them – but he was optimistic for what would come next. Glancing at Richie sitting in the passenger seat, Cory was certain Richie shared that hope.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, and kudos always welcome, even when this fic is "old."


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